[ As soon as he gets his helmet off, he takes a deep breath of the familiar salt-scented air and the nostalgia hits him square in the chest. It's bittersweet, to be coming here again after so long and with Peggy. More sweet than bitter. Holding his helmet on his lap, he turns his head a little so their cheeks almost brush, and the smell of her perfume mingles with the brine.

He smiles despite the twist of something else in his chest. It's not sad, exactly, but close to it. ] I might've figured as much.

[ He turns a little more to face her better; there's still a red smudge on the tip of his nose. ]

But I used to think about bringing you here, after the war. I know I never told you that. [ He didn't have the guts, back then. Or maybe he just didn't dare to hope out loud. His smile is a touch self-deprecating. ] Like a proper date.